Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-Four
Indi
I wondered briefly what we would dance to once Marcus had me against him. But then he started humming and it all made sense. At first, I kept stumbling. Then weakly apologizing when he growled at me. Soon, he realized that the best dance partners don’t have knots around their ankles. So he got rid of those.
Now we’re sweeping around the ruins of my living room, his hand at the small of my back, and my cheek on his chest as he leads me through a surprisingly good waltz. Maybe he had lessons when he was young. You know, in-between torturing animals, setting fires, and wetting his bed?
But I jest.
This shit’s fucking serious as hell, and I only wish I could form some kind of plan that didn’t involve a random meteorite crashing into the house.
Even now, dancing a crazy waltz through the remnants of my home, I can feel how strong he is. How the muscles along his spine bunch as he moves. How tightly he grasps my hand. The sure-footedness of every step he takes.
Bet you wish you had your switchblade now, don’t ya?
Oh, you bet I do!
Then again, I wish for many things right now. Like enough backbone to attempt to seduce him. I could do that. But every time I look up and see that vacant, dreamy look in his eyes, everything inside me shrivels up.
Then all I can do is gently rest my head on his chest and wish myself the fuck away from this place.
But dear God, it’s not a fuck working.
It’s not working .
Briar
I slam on the brakes when the signpost for Indi’s road comes into view. The car behind me streams past blaring its horn, and the driver even throws me a zap through his passenger-side window.
No fucks given.
I put my Mustang into gear, and cruise around the corner. My GPS tells me I’m a minute away from my destination before I turn her off with a stab of my thumb.
I got this, Siri.
I fucking got this.
I’d wished more than anything that I’d taken the gun from that safe.
Why the fuck didn’t I?
Oh, right. Back then, I was still under the impression it was Addy blackmailing me.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt this naive in my fucking life. This…duped.
My best friend and I didn’t have a fucking clue. Is it because he was the only one that was ever there for me? The only one who ever insisted on protecting me, even when I didn’t need it?
Doesn’t matter, of course. What’s done is done. I can’t change the past, I can only affect change in the present.
And presently, I need Marcus’s head on a fucking spike.
Indi
I hear footsteps the same time Marcus does. We both turn to the side. Briar’s standing on the threshold of what used to be the entrance hall of my house.
He doesn’t look close to as pissed off as he did when he was standing in Addy’s living room. In fact, he looks a little taken aback. The flip my stomach just did ends in a fucking belly flop.
What, you never seen a murderer waltzing around with his victim before, Briar?
“Hey, man. What’s up?” Marcus releases me, dismisses me, abandons me. Then he’s striding up to Briar, a hand outstretched like Briar’s just arrived at the football game he’s streaming at his house. Late, but instantly forgiven since he brought his own six-pack of Bud.
And instead of lunging forward, tackling him, and busting his head open on the soot-covered tiles of my living room floor…Briar shakes his motherfucking hand.
“Long drive,” Briar says.
My feet take root. My hands curl into fists.
“Glad you could join us, bro,” Marcus says, completely oblivious to the fact that I’m sprinting toward him at full speed.
Briar’s eyes go wide, and he barely manages one shake of his head.
Then Marcus turns, catches me, spins me around.
Are we waltzing again? Is this one of those flashy moves that will end with me sliding between his legs?
Nope.
This is Marcus anticipating my every fucking move like a goddamn assassin.
We spin. He throws me away from him. Briar lunges toward him. And then there’s suddenly a gun involved in the situation.
I’m on my ass on the floor, but I freeze just as much—if not more—than Briar does.
Marcus makes a show of drawing back the hammer with his thumb.
Briar lifts his hands.
Right now I hate them both equally. Marcus for being a psychotic asshole, Briar for being a cowardly freak.
Where’s the cinematic rough and tumble between besties? The well-aimed punch that has Marcus sliding over the tiles, stunning him just long enough to let Briar snatch up the gun?
Nope. They just fucking stare at each other.
Slowly, quietly, patiently , I get to my feet.
Fuck this shit.
I’m done being held against my will. I’m done with Marcus’s rapey threats.
Done.
Just fucking done.
Lips peeling up into a snarl, I launch myself at Marcus.